


Running to You

by Brillador



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Comfort/Angst, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Papastiltskin, Romance, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 07:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6972349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal survives “Quiet Minds” by the power of True Love. Some time later he and Emma are about to be married, but old fears threaten hope for a happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running to You

**Author's Note:**

> Another giveaway fic, this time for theswanduckling on Tumblr, who prompted pretty much the summary above. This is the first time I’ve written anything non-Rumbelle for this fandom (although Rumbelle is hinted at). I quite enjoyed it!

“Papa, stop.” Neal grunted. “I’m not fourteen, remember? You don’t need to fuss over me.”

“Indulge me, son,” Rumplestiltskin replied. His quick fingers, trained by centuries of spinning, were determined to perfect the black bowtie accenting his son’s crisp shirt.

“If you start crying, I’m kicking you out.”

Rumple chuckled. He gave the bow’s wings a final tug. “Even at the ceremony?”

Although he knew his father would not let him walk out the house, let alone down the aisle with a crooked tie, Neal’s fingers automatically touched it as soon as Rumple sent his hands to make sure all the groom’s jacket buttons matched their assigned buttonholes. “Even at your son’s wedding, I doubt you’d let all of Storybrooke see you shed tears.”  
The familiar impish twitch turned up Rumple’s sleek mouth, but then his mood turned serious. “Today, nothing else matters, Bae. I don’t care what any of them think.”

Neal gave in to an appreciative smile. “Well, if you’re lucky, Emma’s parents will be just as teary-eyed. They might not notice.”

Maybe they wouldn’t, but other parties, like Regina or the Blue Fairy, might note any extreme emotional display on his father’s part. Those were the people to whom he was sure Rumplestiltskin cared about not showing any weakness. What Neal hoped was that Belle would convince him that it was fine to be a normal human for once. He could already see them sitting together, her arm around his, her face beaming with enough happiness for the entire Charming-Stiltskin family. Neal didn’t need to know all the details of Rumple and Belle’s relationship, including the displays of affection, from hugs to nuzzles to kisses that he would have preferred not witnessing. As weird as it could be seeing his father all doe-eyed with love, he wasn’t about to criticize. They had both been away from the women they loved for too long. Even a year had been too lengthy to Neal. That was why, as soon as Zelena was defeated and locked away, safe even from Rumplestiltskin’s wrath, he took the first opportunity to sit with Emma and work his way to a proposal. By that point, he didn’t mind admitting that he and his father shared a penchant for dramatic gestures, especially when it came to loved ones.

He did draw the line somewhere. The size of the wedding had been an issue for a while, what with their rather overgrown family tree. He and Emma came to agree to a small number of guests and to keep the festivities toned down. It felt appropriate after their history of Chinese takeout on carnival swings and the fly-by nights at “free” motel rooms. Nothing quite as dingy, of course. Neither Rumple nor the Charmings would have stood for it.

The suit had been one of Rumple’s persistent suggestions. Neal struggled not to shrug like he was a tortoise in an ill-fitted shell. At last his father clapped his hands on the groom’s shoulders. His eyes were already shining wet. It could have just been the light in the room.

“There you go.” He glanced up and down. There was definitely a film of tears forming. The slight chin-wibble gave away how close he was to letting the waterworks go. “You look fantastic. So handsome.”

“Papa.” Neal’s reprimand came out gentler than he intended. He could only manage a whisper.

“I know, I know.” Rumple spoke low, too. He flicked off some lint Neal guessed wasn’t really there. “I’ll get out of your hair.” True to his word, after cupping his son’s face in his hands for a reverent moment, he took leave. The door shut with a soft click.

Neal wasn’t much for fussing over himself, any more than he wanted his father to do it for him. Nevertheless, he peered in the standing mirror to check that everything was in order. His face projected the calm of a worldly, rough but good-hearted man; inside he was a sweating mess. None of it had to do with uncertainty of his desires. He knew what he wanted: Emma, Henry, a whole family for whom he would do anything, even risk death. What made his blood race was whether he would measure up to the task of being Emma’s husband and a fixed figure in Henry’s life. His history wasn’t at all pristine, especially where she was concerned. For years he had felt and feared he would never find forgiveness for leaving her as he did.

Anxiety wrapped around his mind like an ensnaring squid, distracting him until a couple of knocks rang at the door. Neal, startled, continued facing the mirror but forced his arms to hold still. “I’ll be out soon, Papa.”

The tumblers clicked and turned. The hinges creaked. In the widening gap between the jamb and the door frame, it was not his father’s graying head that appeared. Blond hair tied in a relaxed yet stylish bun struck his eyes like lightning through the mirror’s reflection.

Neal swiveled around. A few golden curls framed Emma’s tense face. He had seen the expression often. It cranked up his nerves more than the expected wedding jitters. “Hey,” he said, gentle and surprised.

“Hey.” Emma shut the door. The rustle of her dress drew Neal’s attention to it. As far as wedding dresses went, it was pretty restrained. She still looked like a princess out of a fairy tale. Another bit of input from her parents that, like Neal’s suit, would brook no objections from the couple. It hung straight down to Emma’s ankles, allowing her simple pumps to show. The periwinkle gown, silk or satin, was covered with chiffon several shades lighter. Beads matching the colors decorated her bodice, including the sleeveless straps. It was the first time Neal had seen the dress on her. He knew from passing remarks shared by Mary Margaret—Snow White—over whether the dress should be white. In terms of traditional symbols, Emma was against wearing white at a wedding that her son would be attending. On his end, Neal had not cared either way. He was impressed Emma had agreed to wear a dress at all.

“You look amazing,” he said after several awkward seconds. “But isn’t it against the rules for the groom to see the bride?”

Emma’s worried frowned yielded to a brief smile. “We’ve never exactly been big on rules, have we?”

“I guess not.” Neal smiled back. He wanted to keep smiling to hold at bay whatever it was that had brought Emma here looking so distressed. “Well, I hate to disappoint, but I’m just wearing a standard tux. My father tried to talk me into something more interesting—”

“Neal.” The frown returned. Emma gripped the skirt of her dress.

He breathed deeply. “You’re not here about our outfits, are you?”

The smile she gave was sadder. “It would make this a lot easier.”

He felt his heart and stomach drop together. A paranoid voice in the back of his mind had whispered for weeks that something like this would happen. He wanted to panic, or better yet, leave before he had his heart completely stomped to dust. But if he did, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He wouldn’t be the one to run this time. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said.

For seconds that felt like hours, Emma stared at her feet instead of her fiancé. Her lips pursed, as they did whenever she was struggling to put her words in order. Neal grew antsier from waiting. He took a step. “Emma, it’s okay. You can just say it.”

“It’s not that simple.” Her eyes closed, locking her black feathery lashes together.

He felt a strong compulsion to kiss her and either banish her dread or give her the strength to do what she felt she must. But if there was a wedding tradition he wanted to keep, it was waiting until they were at the altar to kiss his bride.

“Are you having second thoughts?” he asked.

Emma breathed in. “Yes and no.”

“Okay. That helps.”

He couldn’t resist. Provocation was a sure-fire way of getting a clear response out of her, however muddled she was feeling. Her sharp eyes snapped up at him. Then she relaxed, letting her shoulders sag. “Look, maybe at this point, I’m trying not to psyche myself out. I’m trying not to find a reason to . . .”

“Run?” Neal finished for her.

She gave an acknowledging look that also made it seem she might cry.

Neal was more relieved than was probably appropriate. He could imagine this conversation taking a different turn. The issue at hand came as no real surprise. He was more worried that she wanted out because she hadn’t really forgiven him.

“I understand.” He moved forward again while allowing space to remain between them.

“Really?”

“Sure. Look, all that’s happened these last couple years, and all that happened with us way before—I know we’re not treading on steady ground. I know the safer thing would be to not take the risk of . . . of things not working out.” He took a small risk of his own by reaching for Emma’s hand.

Fleeting hesitation gave way to her slipping her slender hand into his large one. Cupping her beautiful fingers reminded Neal just what an odd couple they made: the princess and the spinner’s son, two runaways who for some reason kept coming back to each other. Well, in his view, there was a reason. It was the same reason he went ahead with proposing to her. Even with all they had endured together and apart, his heart and gut knew this was meant to be.

His love—his True Love—squeezed his hand. She didn’t quite smile. She wasn’t quite frowning. “So, what makes you so sure this risk is worth it? I want to be sure. I know what my heart wants, but . . .”

Neal’s optimism peeked through the clouds of his fears. “Remember the forest? When I was dying in your arms? You kissed me and brought me back.”

“Yeah?” she said, wondering at his point.

“Emma, that’s True Love’s Kiss. And to me, that’s enough to know that this is worth fighting for.”

Another smile finally sprang on her lips. “Sounds like something Belle would say.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. Your parents would, too. Even my father, and we both know how cynical he can be.”

That did say something, and Emma’s brightening mood read to him as a sign that she was accepting the truth of it. He felt a hopeful, giddy rush when she gripped his other hand.  
“The truth is,” she said, “I wasn’t sure who I was doing this for, or why. When I said yes—”

“When you eventually said yes,” Neal pointed out, remembering how thunderstruck she was when he popped the question.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. I should have been sure by that point.” She paused. Her forehead furrowed as though she were having a small revelation. “I guess I was. But then I mulled over it through all those months of planning and trying to be the excited bride whose dreams were all coming true.”

Neal tilted his head. “Are they?”

Emma blinked once, long and deliberately. “Yeah. That’s what scares me. Because I know this is no fairy tale. Even though Snow White and Prince Charming and the Evil Queen are going to be at the wedding.”

With another soft laugh, Neal leaned in so that their foreheads touched. “I know. I get it, Emma. And it’s okay to be scared. I just want you to remember that I will never, ever stop fighting for you. Maybe that’s from being from a land of fairy tales, or maybe from knowing that’s the only chance we have of finding happiness in this world.”

She sighed. Her weight pressed a little more into him. “I hope we don’t have to do any real fighting for a while.”

“Yeah,” Neal said. “But if we do, I’ll be right there with you. For better or for worse.”

They held together, sharing air and sharing warmth, neither speaking. This kind of quiet intimacy was among the things Neal cherished most in life. He had shared them with his father in the long-lost past, their mutual love dulling the pains of poverty. With Emma, back in their thievery days, having his arms around her turned the uncomfortable confines of the yellow bug’s back seat into a romantic setting. Poverty, living outside the law—that couldn’t hurt his happiness. Not so long as his family was there to love him and be loved with unspoken depth.

Emma pulled back first. Her hand left his grasp to fish out something in her bodice. When Neal arched an eyebrow, she said, “The dress doesn’t have pockets, all right? And apparently it’s tacky to carry a clutch with your bouquet.”

What amusement this inspired dissipated at the sight of what she had been carrying. The silver chain and swan pendant twinkled as she held it up. “Help me put it on?”

Neal’s thoughts trekked back years to when he first swiped that keychain and gave it to her, then when she tugged it off in the bar in New York and returned it to him. And then, in the woods, when he felt his life draining so that his father could live, he pressed it into her hand and told her to find her happy ending, even if it was without him. Then darkness seemed to claim him, only to be broken by light, and then by Emma’s tearful face shining down. He held in his mind how her expression changed from grief to joy as he came back to the land of the living—all while his fingers took the chain and draped it around Emma’s throat. The swan pendant rested over her breastbone, a couple inches to the right of her heart. Neal turned her around to see. He couldn’t remember feeling himself smile so widely, so honestly. His hand took hers again and brought it up for a kiss.

“Thank you,” Emma said.

Neal nodded, knowing she was thanking him for more than helping with the necklace. “I’ll see you at the altar.”

She smiled. “It’s a date.”


End file.
